


Rosebay and Winter Cherry

by AsphorFell



Series: Luck Runs Out [2]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bliss is Not Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fae Courting, Grooming, Multi, Never trust the fae, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, fae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-18 02:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17572940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsphorFell/pseuds/AsphorFell
Summary: Rook's disappearance and the events leading up to it.Or:The Temptation of Rook (In Four Parts)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because Nick didn't know the whole story, it's Rook's turn.

  _There are a lot of things that Rook never told Nick about her open window. Like how it wasn't plain curiosity that made her open her window that first night, or any night after.  
_

_It was the music.  
_

_And later, it was the gifts._

* * *

 

Rook was 8 years old the first time that she got curious enough about the rules that she broke them, and to give the girl credit, she wouldn't have broken them at all had it not been for the music that she heard outside her window at night, every month. Rook's little house was the closest in Hope to the Woods, so near in fact that you were nearly in them. The trees, ancient and bent, loomed above, so high that when the child looked up, she became either dizzy or blinded by the shear height of them.

It was that living in the shadow of this Wildness that Rook's bravery came from.

Rook's father was a hunter.

For most days and nights he was a phantom, returning to Hope only on the Full Moon and during the winter, loaded down with furs and other things he'd scrounged up, to take shelter with his wife and daughter. He was a big man, with clever, strong fingers, that carved many a marvelous toy for his daughter, and though not gifted with gab, he was still a skilled story teller when it came to her, especially on the long, endless nights brought by winter. The Hunter told her of the animals in the Forest; the white deer that only emerged on the New Moon, dainty and ethereal, glowing in the darkness. He told her about the squirrels that skittered in the trees, and the wolves that had no fear because _he_ was the invader, not they. About the birds black as soot with eyes as crystal blue as the sea who would watch you from the trees, and how it was best to just leave them something shiny-be it pretty stones or priceless gems- and walk away, but never with your back to them.

He told her stories, on the nights when she couldn't sleep, big hands busy with a block of wood and knife, working steadily, surely, but he also warned her. He warned her about the wolves that followed in your footsteps, unnaturally white, with eyes of blue. They were mostly content to live and let live, so long as you left a bit of meat for them from each kill. He talked of the phantom voices that danced around you, sometimes mimicking someone you knew, asking you to follow, to come see, "to join us", he would repeat with a shudder. He said that most often though, the voice was just a beautiful woman's, dangerous especially to a fool who might not love his wife as much as he should. By night there were footsteps and phantom lights that threatened to lead you astray.

The Hunter did for Rook what no one else in Hope had done for their children; he gave her a reason for the warnings and the rules, he made the danger real for her, in the safest way possible, all in the hopes that his daughter would not tempt fate. And it would have worked; she would have grown and been healthy, becoming a hunter as well, perhaps married. In another life.

What happened instead was this:

The Hunter didn't come home one Full Moon.

All day Rook's mother waited, growing more and more afraid with every passing hour that her beloved didn't appear. She went through the motions of the day, readying everything, until finally light faded and it grew dark, and she had no choice but to lock the door and windows, tears streaming down her cheeks, but no sound escaping. She kissed Rook goodnight and shut herself away, to finally fall apart in the privacy of her former marriage bed. She left Rook alone to her grief, old enough to know what had happened, although she wouldn't have seen it.

(Father sitting in front of the fire, watching the snow fall outside at night, Mother frustrated-she doesn't like Father telling her these stories, she thinks it'll hurt her. But Father tells them anyway.

"The Woods aren't ours, Rook," he explains, staring into the trees, "but They let us in, let us hunt, play tricks on us. But They don't want us there on Full Moons, because it's Their time. Humans aren't welcome Then. No man's safe in the Woods on Full Moons. He's as good as a dead man."

It's a warning between the lines, one that Rook reads and nods along to, but she presses her head against his knee, discomforted by the thought that anything could happen to Father.)

It's the Full Moon and Father hasn't come home.

So he's dead.

She knew it with grim certainty, pain blossoming in her chest and tears pricking her eyes like needles.

The Hunter, for whatever reason, had finally faltered in his skill, and somewhere in the Woods he was lying alone, body cold and host to animals and scavengers.

The only thing that kept her from going to look for him was the knowledge of what was out there. What lay in waiting, perhaps crouched over her father's body, tearing him to pieces.

They didn't even have a body to bury.

Mother was in the other room, Father wouldn't have wanted Rook to leave her alone. Mother needed her.

But still Rook couldn't sleep.

She closed her eyes and tried, but she heard, beyond the pounding of her heart in her ears, the sound of music

Outside the house, there was music, and it was so lovely, so wonderful that it slowly began to overtake her senses. She'd never heard music so lovely, music that made shapes behind her eyes and made her see things that weren't there, sprightly and alive. The child sat up, listening.

"Come out, come out and join us! Come play with us!" A voice whispered on the wind darting through the cracks and crannies of the house, making Rook shiver.

("Sometimes if you listen, Rook, you can hear the voice of a woman," Father explains gruffly one night. 

"A woman?"

"Not always a woman," he amends with a grimace. "When you're lonely, you see, They like to taunt you. And sometimes it gets lonely out there. Sometimes I hear a beautiful voice calling. Or you, asking for help, because you're lost, coming to see me. Sometimes it's your mother. But you never follow the voice, understand? She's dangerous." Father says, and she nods, but thinks about it for a minute.

"But how do you know it isn't me or Mother?" She asks curiously, making him laugh and pet her hair.

"Because I know you and your Mother wouldn't be stupid enough to go into the Woods without me."

The Woman targets the lonely. Or men too stupid and too in love with their wives or worried for their family to wonder why they'd be out in the Woods in the first place.)

Any other night she wouldn't listen.

But that night...

Rook made her way to the window and held her breath as she unlatched it, minding the salt on the sill, the last line of defense.

It was absurdly easy to unbolt the lock, to open the window, the shutters. It had never been difficult before, but the tension of the night seemed to demand some sort of difficulty in giving into temptation. 

Outside, it was so bright. The moon lit the earth like a torch, she saw as clearly as if it were daylight. A silver glow was on everything, and the dew shone like jewels on the grass and the flowers of Mother's garden. Rook had never imagined that Full Moons could be so beautiful- how could she, when all she'd heard from everyone pointed to it being a time of terror and fear, when it seemed as though the Devil walked outside their doors, waiting for a curious child to break the rules and peek out at him. Beyond the tameness of her yard, Rook spotted flowers at the treeline, flowers that she had never seen before, that seemed to absorb the light of the moon and give off their own ethereal glow. 

The wind picked up, and the trees danced to it, limbs full of leaves that rattled to a breeze like the laughter of a woman.

Rook stared out the window for a long time, but she saw no figures, no monsters, and no answers.

She went to bed disappointed.

She didn't lock the window.

* * *

The Hunter's funeral is held three days later.

It's a small, quiet affair, and Rook's Mother has, overnight, gone from a calm, steady presence to a small, quiet woman, whose eyes are swollen with grief. She grips Rook's shoulder with the same iron strength as Pastor Jerome speaks of eternal love and loss, and Paradise. It doesn't bring any comfort to the small grieving family.

The grave site; a show, that's all, smoke and mirrors, is overgrown with honeysuckle and bluebells.

Rook's mother sobs and has to be taken home.

On Rook's sill the next morning she finds Father's knife, cleaned and sharpened.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Temptation of Rook: Aged 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's got Streptococcus and has to miss work? This ol' gal!
> 
> Yeah, I work with food, it wouldn't be responsible to go in when I'm still contagious. So I thought I'd do something productive and finish this chapter early! It sucks though, because it turns out cats can get strep throat so I'm quarantine from the fluffies.

Life in Hope is like the River Henbane, there's no stopping it as it moves on, you just had to keep up. Sometimes it was easier than others; you could keep up with a leisurely walk in the sunshine. Other days it was like running alongside it in the bruising rain, unable to see and forced to go on by sight alone. After her father's death, life moving on is like the latter. Because of how infrequently the Hunter lived with his family, it was easy to forget sometimes that Father wasn't coming back. There would be no more whittled birds pressed awkwardly into her hands when he arrived, with a gentle pat on her head. 

Rook grieved the Hunter in her own way; she began to steal into the Woods when she could, armed with a bow and arrow and her father's knife. She brought food home for her and Mother (always leaving some meat behind, just like he'd told her). Her Mother, in despair, when she'd discovered what her daughter was doing, flew into a rage. They fought- as much as an 8 year old can fight her last living parent. In the end, though, no punishment made her stop, and the meat was good, and the child returned well before nightfall every night. There was nothing that could be done but worry, and Mother did that in spades.

She left flowers on the little grave every week; the honeysuckle and the bluebells had yet to wilt, growing steadily and cheerfully, almost mockingly.

Things changed, and they didn't- her mother had to work harder now, so Rook was alone more often. She still played with her friends, still climbed the highest of them in Rae-Rae's orchard for apples and tossed them down to Nick because he was the only one of them with hands steady enough to catch them every time she tossed one down.

It's to Nick that she confessed opening the window to, in secret when it was just them, and enough time had passed without ill effects that she felt safe enough to say it.

"What was out there?" He asked immediately, in awe.

How do you describe something unearthly to a person that's never seen it?

"It was so bright it looked like daytime," she tried, "but the light was wrong. It wasn't bright, like the sun. But it was all in silver," was the closest that she could come to. She wasn't good with words, they didn't come out right. She couldn't make things come to life, not like Hurk.

Nick was impressed by her bravery, and part of her wanted to tell him that she'd not locked her windows since that night. But Rook was far from stupid, so she let him think that she was a hero (in the way only a little boy can think in such a vague term).

She didn't tell him about the knife either.

* * *

It gets easier to run with the Henbane.

Pieces start to fall in together, and Rook grows and hunts and thinks.

What are They?

They don't have names, not really- just a general consensus, and descriptors. And only she knew those now.

Every Full Moon her window remained unlocked; her mother knew nothing about it, trusted her daughter to be sensible about the dangers outside the window.

But after that first night, there was nothing out there.

There was no voice calling her out there to play, there was no music.

She wondered if she imagined it, and often found herself watching the treeline for any sign of movement.

The glimmering light of the moon on those nights had never changed, it still made everything look deathly still and unreal; half the time she was convinced that she was dreaming as she sat there, watching the stillness. Was this what They saw? Was this why they didn't want humans on Their land? If so, she couldn't blame them; people were messy and loud and strange; they'd break the stillness and the serenity, voices cutting through it not like gentle music but like thunder, shattering it like glass under a stone. Feet would tramp through the dewdrop gems, crush the white flowers, delicate looking trumpet lilies, or else ruin all that was good about it. No, Rook couldn't blame Them at all for wanting it to Themselves.

Her knowing about it felt like a secret, and Hope had so few secrets among it's mysteries that she kept this one close, nursing it to her chest.

* * *

Rook was 12, awkward and unsure but steady and growing in a way that she hadn't before. It seemed like every time she slept she grew another half inch; she was always tired, always hungry, mood unsure and changing quicker than the tides. She hated this instability, wanted to become more of herself again- but who was that anymore?

Rook was 12 the first time she finally encountered the wolves from the Hunter's stories.

She'd stepped off her father's trail (now only there because she walked it- did that make it her trail now?), tailing a deer into the Woods, keeping half an eye on the light and less than half on the tracks. She was well on her way to becoming a hunter herself, old enough and skilled enough (through trial, error, and the desperate need for money and meat) to stay out longer and longer and bring back more with her. By now her mother had even gotten used to it, though she still wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation, and honestly never would be.

Rook tracked the deer slowly and deliberately, when a sound behind her brought her attention, then came the overwhelming feeling of eyes on her. Pausing, she half turned her head, only for her breath to catch at the sight of the monstrously big wolf no less than 10 yards behind her. Stark white, eyes unsettlingly blue, and flanked by three more of them. 

None of them moved, all of them watching each other to see what the other was going to do. Would the wolves attack? Would she attack them?

Rook weighed her options- she wasn't nearly fast enough to outrun four adult wolves- especially when they weren't normal ones. She wouldn't be able to shoot them fast enough to make it worth it, and she wasn't confident in her ability with the knife if they got close.

"I don't have any food yet," she found herself saying. "But I know the rules." She promised, trying not to panic.

The wolf in the lead did nothing, but the moment was broken, and Rook knew instinctively that it was alright to walk away.

To prove that she knew the rules.

It was the scariest thing she'd ever done, turning her back on predators like those wolves and placing herself in a vulnerable position.

They followed her, just backed off enough that prey wouldn't catch wind of them and disrupt her hunt, but always close enough that Rook could feel them nearby.

She wondered how her father reacted the first time he met them. How he'd learned the rules that he'd taught her.

The doe was a pretty thing, still young, all grace. She'd separated from her herd. She was vulnerable, she was weak.

Rook nocked an arrow and took a deep breath, heart beating in her fingers. She needed to control herself, she'd done this a hundred times before, but it never got any easier for her. There was always a moment of hesitation, where she wished she didn't have to kill it. But they needed to eat.

The arrow whistled as it cut through the air and made a low thumping sound as it hit the target, burying itself into the crease behind her leg. The deer made a low screaming noise and tried to move, but she'd struck it's vitals and the doe only made it a few steps before collapsing in pain. It's breathing stopped as Rook approached warily, well aware of the judgement at her back.

She butchered it there in the Woods, stringing it up and cutting out the entrails that they couldn't eat. She couldn't do a complete job, not without risking staying past dark, so she settled for cutting out meat for the wolves and hauling the carcass home to finish it there.

She laid the meat out on the rocks at the wolves feet, backing away, waiting for permission to leave.

They devoured her offering and Rook took it as her cue to haul ass out of there- as much as she could, anyway, carrying her bow and arrows and the deer.

* * *

When the Moon comes up, more things have changed, what once was a pebble is now a tidal wave.

Rook is a woman, and she hates it.

Mother teaches her how to scrub the blood out of her sheets and clothes, and clucks about her growing up. Their are many comments about her settling down and getting married, and it's pissing Rook off something fierce.

It's sheer stubbornness that makes her stay awake this night, a response to her mother's incessant reminders to  _'be safe, remember Rook, They're out there waiting, keep the windows locked and stay in bed, be careful, be careful, always be careful,'_ she'd just nodded, gritting her teeth and trying to be patient with her mother. Every month it was as if her mother thought that she'd never lived in Hope before, didn't know the rituals. She locks the doors and the window in her room under Mother's watchful eye. 

They eat their dinner in silence and retire to their separate beds. Rook listens to the sound of her Mother's breathing slowing in the next room over, finally settling into a low snore like rocks smashing against each other. It was the signal to creep out of bed and open her window, which she does carefully, stepping over the parts of the floor that creak and rub together like an alarm. She does it without thinking, second nature after all these years.

Outside, all is calm, and it settles and soothes something her that had been ruffled by the awkwardness of the last few days.

It seems that, no matter what might happen inside the house, or around town, Full Moons would always stay the same. Muted silver light, dew drops, stillness, white flowers like trumpets some distance from the treeline. The continued repetition is comforting to her.

There's a breeze like bells on the wind, and the sickeningly sweet smell of the flowers makes her head spin. She closes her eyes and leans against the frame of the window, breathing it in. She feels like she's floating, and she can't help but relax to the feeling.

(Rook dreamt of fire and harsh laughter, of blood on stone and the sound of claws and the smell of burnt flesh. There's a burning heat that consumes her from the outside in, a whispered promise that she couldn't make out beyond the muted feel of lips on her ear)

* * *

Rook woke to the feel of the sun on her face, and the soft experimental singing of the birds in the morning. Her neck was cricked up and her back was knotted from the awkward way she'd slept. It didn't make for a pleasant way to wake up, all things told.

She sat up and stretched, blinking the sleep from her eyes, and then blinking again to be sure of what she was seeing.

Resting on her windowsill was fur, white as snow- carefully unfolding it, she realized that it was fur cloak. At the center of the folded garment was a brooch strong enough to pin the cloak together, made of bone and painstakingly carved into the shape of the flowers that appeared on Full Moons.

It was beautiful, and so soft in her hands, she couldn't help but try it on. The cloak was warm fit her perfectly, lined with wool on the inside. Upon further investigation she found a great many pockets as well, cleverly hidden. The garb was made well, and she was flattered by it and the brooch. It was almost too fine a gift, all things considered.

Which begged the question, where did it come from?

And then Rook felt like a fool for even questioning it.

One of Them had made it for her. Why else would it appear on a Full Moon?

But why give it to her?

The cloak made her ask more questions, and gave her no answers, just resting on her lap where she folded it, brooch sitting atop it innocently, as if it weren't 'the work of mischief' as her mother would say, clutching at her chest. 

The smart thing to do would be to burn it, to never mention it. To stay out of the Woods from now until the end of time.

Rook put it away in the chest at the end of her bed, at the very bottom, where Mother wouldn't see it and question it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Life in Hope was like the Henbane, there's no stopping it as it moves on," is a direct reference to the song "There is a Time", by The Dillards, a song that was covered by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band (I like that one best), and is one of the most beautiful songs in the world. It's somber and beautiful and I thought it fit the chapter.
> 
> Because wolves were involved with this chapter, I had to make a Little Red Riding Hood reference.
> 
> Fun Facts of the chapter!
> 
> 1.) The wolves are not actually fae- they're residents of the Other World, and companions of Jacob. They bring him news and he sees through their eyes when he cares to (hence the blue). Think Hugin and Munin.
> 
> 2.) I have literally never been hunting. I've shot shotguns (gotta learn how to defend yourself, amirite?), but not a bow and arrows. I googled where to hit the deer and that's how I wrote it. If I am incorrect, let me know and I will re-write it.
> 
> 3.) Originally this was fic was gonna be an alternation on the temptations of Christ, since the Deputy and Joseph were supposed to fit the roles of Jesus and the Anti-Christ. But I couldn't find a way to make it work how I wanted, as Rook is not a demi god. So instead the Seeds are tempting her in ways that fit their nature.
> 
> 4.) Faith is a changeling- I might actually expand on this idea. I know I made her out to be a fae and a siren, but technically she's a human who's been tainted by the Fae. She's eaten their food, drunk their drink, used their Magick. She's less than Fae but more than human.
> 
> 5.) I actually pictured Jacob as a redcap- not for the obvious reasons, although the red hair would be clever. Redcaps are apparently goblins that live in the mountains that wage war on passing humans by throwing stones on them and killing them, then dipping their hat in their victim's blood (in one interpretation, anyway). And if that doesn't sound like Jacob as a Fae I don't know what does.
> 
> 6.) Rook's Mom isn't actually marrying her off or anything like that- it was just something I could see her Mom saying. She's a good woman but she doesn't really understand Rook. It's hard for her to look at her daughter and see her resemble her father so much, you know? She really loved him.
> 
> 7.) Rook didn't salt the sill, which is why her gifts were left on the window, but still not technically in the house. Yes, she is getting careless, isn't she?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Temptation of Rook Chapter 3: Age 18
> 
> or
> 
> Rook meets a man in the Woods

_For the longest time, the lovely cloak had to gather dust, hidden out of sight from people (mostly her mother) who would ask questions that Rook would have had no answer for._

_Where did you get it?_

_Why did they give it to you?_

_She felt guilty, both for lying and for having to hide something so beautiful that must have taken work to make._

* * *

At the age of 18, Rook was old enough to finally follow completely in her father's footsteps and spend most of her time in the Wood.

It was a long and bitter argument between Rook and her mother on the subject. Words were hurled, salted, barbed and stinging at each other, tears were said, doors were slammed. Mother didn't agree with the idea, for obvious reasons. Reasons that Rook could understand. It took nearly 3 days of cold silence between them before they were able to sit down and discuss it like two adults should be able to. They sat at the little table with it's empty third chair and laid out their reasons to one another. 

Rook would be able to bring back more furs plants and things to Hope. Being able to stay out in the Woods meant that she'd be able to go farther without having to time herself and watch the sky so that she could hurry back before dark.

Rook's mother's disagreement was that the Woods had taken too much from her already; her husband was gone, body lost to the animals. Now it was taking her daughter from her.

In the end though, Rook was a woman grown, and she'd made her decision. She felt more comfortable in the Woods now than ever before.

Changes were happening around her, and Rook wasn't sure how to take them. Hurk had been bitten by a wanderlust powerful enough to detach him from Senior and Adelaid's respective coattails and he'd ridden off with the last trader's caravan, hastily packed bag thrown over his shoulder. Sharky was now in so much trouble from the law lately that he was often either in jail or on the run for starting his fires. She might have gone to Nick about it, but Nick was mooning over Kim and Kim was enjoying making him work for it, even though everyone knew that she loved him too.

Rook was in the way, she felt. Everyone had half a step or a whole step in the right direction of where they wanted to go, but Rook was behind, still daydreaming about the music and the Woods, and afraid to move on.

Rook had the Woods, and no direction beyond the trails of her kills.

(The first night is the hardest.

As her fire dies she begins to feel that fear, that deep, primal urge to run that had been absent since childhood. It's in the pit of her stomach, the pounding of her heart, her own erratic breathing. It turns every breeze into the icy breath of something Other, and every dancing branch into a grimace. Her imagination runs wild, turning the most harmless into the worst sorts of creatures.

Sleep is long coming, but she eventually finds it.

After that it's peaceful).

She felt more at ease out there, less like she was pretending, more like who she was meant to be. The animals and trees didn't care if Rook went without talking for a few days. They didn't mind if she wore her fur cloak or her broach. If she chose to skip a meal it wasn't meant with guilt or tears and accusations.

In the woods, Rook was herself.

Seasons change, and summer heat gave way to autumn chill. Often she woke in her camp to frost on the cloak-turned-blanket, but she never felt the cold when it was draped about her.

* * *

Rae-Rae's family goes missing that fall, right after the full moon. Rae-Rae's neighbors in Holland valley wake up that morning and find the back foor of the house open, it's tennants missing, and their dog Boomer half choked on his rope. He'd pulled the rope with enough strength trying to escape, to go after his family, that he nearly strangled himself.

There's a funeral and new empty graves in the graveyard.

There's a discussion about where Boomer should go, and for a time he's shuffled from family to family, but the dog keeps escaping, only to be found at the edge of the Wood.

Rook is a last resort; she's frequently in the Woods, after all, and they figure that maybe the hunting will keep the dog busy, or in the very least out of the way.

He's a good dog.

* * *

With Boomer there her nights are better. The dog is good company, and Rook's never felt safer than she does when the dog is there watching over her at night. 

They settle into a routine, the two of them. She'd cook them some dinner. Boomer would eat and lay at her feet, but he'd stay awake and on guard until after she slept, and she got used to that.

But one night Boomer falls asleep before her, before dinner is even finished cooking. Which is odd, but Rook just figures that the dog was tired. He'd worked hard, earned a rest, and she leaves him alone.

"Hello."

The voice comes out of the darkness, and Rook barely restrains a shout, jumping to her feet in shock. 

The stranger had approached in silence, giving no hint to his location until he spoke, but he stepped into the light of the campfire a moment later, smiling awkwardly.

He's tall, well dressed-wealthy, with dark hair and such blue blue eyes. He's got a nice smile.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you. I've been walking and it got so dark..." He shrugs, looking back over his shoulder, and Rook settles down again after a moment. She feels sympathetic; the Woods were frightening if you weren't used to them, and he wasn't from Hope, and, frankly, he looked like he doesn't belong out here.

"It's fine," she waves it away and gestures across from her. "If you want to rest you're welcome. I've got something to eat if you're hungry," she offers, and he smiles, pleased. She notices his eyes flick to Boomer, to her fur, but he says nothing and sits down where she offered. 

"Thank you miss...?"

Damn, has she forgotten social norms already?

"Rook, my name is Rook." She tells him, blushing. She feels bad for being such a terrible host. He must think that she's a rude person. But his smile is wide, so she can only assume that he isn't offended.

"You may call me John, Miss Rook."

"Alright then, John, you want something to eat?"

He laughs, "yes, that would be wonderful, thank you." So she gives him a portion of her food and they eat in comfortable silence. 

The company's a change up, and she's not sure if she dislikes it. But she doesn't like it either. It's just there, so she'll have to go along with it, all things considered.

"Interesting blanket," John remarks, after he's finished and has wiped his hands. 

"It was a gift." She replies, and John nods, staring into the fire.

"You've been very polite," he admits, and she opens her mouth, only to close it again.

Something, she realizes, is very, very wrong. The atmosphere, which had been warm and relaxed, had chilled somehow. Rook shivers and rubs at her arms, trying to identify what had happened.

"I'll be honest, I didn't expect it. One never knows in the Woods, it's so... _dangerous_ , isn't it?" He laughs and finally looks at her again. "But you, you saw a strange man approaching you and invited me to break bread and rest." His delight is...something otherworldly.

Oh.

Other.

Suddenly Rook realizes that it's silent. The fire doesn't pop or crackle, the breeze doesn't blow, there is nothing beyond her and John.

"And you even have your gift! My brother worked so hard on that, you know. He killed a pack alpha for that fur. It was loyal and strong, and he butchered and skinned it and enchanted it. You must have noticed how it's never cold and you never get wet when you wear it." He shakes his head, "I'm so glad that you're still using it. And my brother will be pleased as well."

"What do you want, John?" Rook asks calmly. "Why are you here?"

"I came to meet you. To see what sort of a woman you were in person." John stood up again.

"And?" She can't attack him. She doesn't know what the hell he is, and she couldn't fire an arrow or stab him before he reacted. 

"And I will be seeing you, Rook. Unless you'd like to come along with me?" He offered her, as if that idea didn't go against everything that she'd ever known. 

But John must understand, because he continues, making the circuit around the her camp. "You want space, to be your own person. We can help you, Rook. You've seen us, heard us singing. You've felt what you wanted. All you have to do is say yes." He promises her.

Rook's voice is caught in her throat, that tension rising like a high pressure storm. Was this him?

She can hardly focus on what she's hearing, too focused on the urge to run, to flee.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, force of habit." John laughs, and suddenly the pressure is gone and she can breathe again, but she can only stare at him. "Do you want to come with me?"

"N-No. No thank you." 

Polite, be polite.

And she'd been so polite, hadn't she?

John shrugs.

"Suit yourself, _Rook."_ He name sound sinful when he says it like that. "If you change your mind...you know how to find us." 

The fire pops, and Rook blinks, but John is gone, and Boomer is up and snarling and staring at the spot that he was just standing.

She feels shaken and afraid and so alone, even when Boomer calms down and presses close to her, whining in distress.

She'd just come face to face with one of the Others.

Rook doesn't sleep that night.

* * *

The next morning after Rook packed up her things and moved on she found the ground around the camp site littered with the corpses of the human faced birds that her father had told her about; They struck at night, their claws were still wicked long and sharp and their faces beautiful, even when cut to such an extent they nearly looked shredded.

The birds hadn't been their when she'd camped, so they must have found her in the night.

But John had gotten to them first.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly John was just gonna watch her; he put Boomer to sleep first but then the birds showed up and he went 'nah, she's mine'.
> 
> Please comment if you liked it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Final Temptation and The Fall of Rook: Age 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have NO IDEA how frustrating this was!
> 
> Okay, so they way I write is this: I write maybe 3/4's of the chapter in my notebook. Enough that I can lock in where it's going to go and what I can edit as I type. I had to re type this chapter 3 times, okay? I was stupid and exited out of the page before I saved. So I lost most of it. Then the website crashed when I typed it out again and saved. And then I LOST INTERNET CONNECTION! HAHAHA!
> 
> But it's done. This stepping stone is done, but the universe isn't closed.
> 
> I'm so proud of how this turned out.

_It goes like this._

* * *

 

Mother is dying.

It's a fact.

The sky is (mostly blue), there are bluebells growing around the house now and Mother is dying.

Time is moving forward without her again, the current bent on taking her last living family. No prayer, no medicine can stop that, just delay the inevitable.

It's hard to watch, and harder to stay there, but Rook figures that she owes it to Mother to take care of her as the woman wastes away and coughs and continually dwindles down into nothing. She's aged by the sickness, old before her time, and all she can do some days is cry and moan, or else grip Rook's hand with her own skeletal one. She sleeps a lot of the time. On good days Rook takes her out to sit in the sun and try and gather some strength, like some sort of flower. But the good days are dwindling too.

When Rook has to leave, either for food, or medicine, or just air that doesn't reek of sickness, Boomer sits with her.

On Full Moons now, Rook sleeps through them. She works too hard during the day, even the night, to want to stay up and deal with the mysterious creatures that know her name and have been watching her for years. She can't think about it or it all becomes too much.

Sometimes the music wakes her up, beautiful and soft and tempting in all the ways that make her soul ache. Other times it's the stillness. Nothing natural is ever so still. Once it's the baying of wolves.

_(It was Spring and bluebells bloomed in the yard)_

* * *

Rook wonders if she's going mad.

Often the only thing that eases Mother's discomfort is the tea that the doctor began making for her. It makes her sleep, or else leaves her confused and dazed, unable to talk or move, but most importantly she can't feel the pain.

It's hard to take care of her. Assuming the role of a caretaker. It's not right on a fundamental level of life. Parents are gods; their children put them on a pedestal that they are responsible for- be it that of a guardian or a tormentor, and worship at those altars. Mother's illness is an affront to the natural order, and the altar has come crashing down loudly.

It doesn't get better.

The first time that she begs Rook to kill her, Rook runs outside to vomit in the bushes.

_(Not because she couldn't but because she could she knew she could, could do it painlessly and without hesitation)_

"What kind of a woman could do that to her own mother?" She asks herself helplessly, knees in the dirt.

 _"Our kind of woman."_ The bluebells say sweetly, too sweetly.

Rook cuts down the flowers that evening, then burns them.

By morning they have grown back, more lush and beautiful than before, a cluster of them beneath her window.

She gets the message.

* * *

_Rook dreams of a gentle voice like honey, warm hands touching her face._

_"Please," he whispers, "let me help you."_

**(I can make her pain stop)**

Rook wakes to the taste of nectar on her lips and a sob caught in her chest, talons of fear raking down her spine as she tears out of bed, overwhelmed by the silence of the house.

She runs into the ~~sickroom~~ bedroom, not daring to breathe, only to break down in relief when she sees her Mother's chest rise and fall.

* * *

_Burning heat kissing down her neck, across her collarbone._

_"She won't suffer anymore."_

_"She would never forgive me."_

_"So loyal."_

_He rewards her._

* * *

Her nights too become consumed by the lean figure of a man whose face she doesn't know.

It's a balancing act; caretaking by day, resisting temptation by night.

But the nights make it bearable- the man worships her, offers her everything, and Rook would be lying if she denied being flattered.

He's like the Woods, she thinks to herself one morning- with him she is Rook, and that's all she needs to be.

It...it's a wonderful feeling.

* * *

Today, miracle of miracles, is a good day.

Mother is awake, she's aware. She's discomforted, not in pain, and Rook could cry in joy. Instead she lets Mother sit out in the sunshine with a bit of needlework so she can clean the sickroom properly. She opens all the windows, scrubs everything, changes the linens. The house doesn't smell like sickness anymore.

They eat dinner outside too- the weather's nice, not too hot, a gentle breeze. Boomer lies at their feet, eyeing the treeline. The sun recedes and the fireflies begin to light up. Mother watches them and then looks at Rook herself, fidgeting in her seat with energy and tension- waiting for a threat, for the shoe to drop, like she always does.

She isn't prepared for Mother to take her hand and squeeze it gently, as if she's delicate, breakable.

"You're so much like him, you know." She begins, voice clear and gentle in a way it hasn't been in  _so long_ it makes Rook ache. "Too much, almost."

"I know, Mama."

She sighs and looks into the darkness, too still, but still alive. "I loved that man so much. I saw him and I knew he was mine. My mother told me "watch. He'll break your heart- he won't belong to you, he belongs out there with the monsters and the wild things." I never forgave her. But I wanted him. And I pushed and pushed until he noticed me. And he married me. And we had you." She shakes her head, and Rook doesn't say anything. What can she say? It's usually too painful to talk about him, and she doesn't want to upset Mother further. "We were both right in the end. He made me happy. But he did belong out there. Like you do." At the guilty look that flashes across Rook's face she laughs a little. "I'm not so stupid, Rook."

The sun goes down, the fireflies come out, and Mother gets a faraway look in her eyes when she glances at Rook, fidgeting where she's sitting.

"I pushed him, and I feel awful for that now. He was who he was, and I knew that." There's so much regret there, but she doesn't cry.

Mother the immovable.

It takes some time for Mother to gather herself again and control herself. 

"I want to be buried with your father, after I'm gone." She declares calmly and Rook nods, startled. The idea that Mother...wants to be in the Woods after death... "It will be easier if it's my ashes. Now, take me inside dear, I'm tired."

Rook kisses the top of her head and helps her inside, feeling an itching under her skin.

* * *

There are no more good days.

It's an exercise in futility.

The next Full Moon, Rook sits at her Mother's bedside and holds her hand as she breathes her last. Boomer whines and presses his nose against her leg and she chokes back a sob. Crying won't change anything. Mother'd made peace with it.

The house is too still, and it's too late to get anyone. They wouldn't come anyway, not tonight.

_(She's so distraught, so alone...so vulnerable)_

Outside, there is light in The Woods, catching her attention. It calls her, like a moth to a flame.

Rook finds herself thinking of her mother's last wishes. Last wishes that she can't give her without help. Her father's body...she's never been able to find it. And she had. It would be a filthy lie to say that she hadn't at least kept an eye out for bones bleached by sunlight, or a corpse picked clean by animals. But there'd been neither hide, hair nor bone of him to be found. By the time that Rook began to hunt the trail was gone if ever there had been one.

She can't deny her mother this.

Boomer she locks in the house and numbly makes her way through the dew drench lawn, her own breath and footsteps her only accompaniment. She's breaking the unspoken rule; the stillness. It feels like sacrilege.

On the cusp of the Woods she pauses, gathering her thoughts to speak. The lights are around her now, flickering, drifting. They give off no warmth, no shadow. They're only real in the basest sense that she sees them, but they don't...she struggles with how to even phrase it...they don't really...light. It's hard to explain, but easy to see. 

A presence like pressure is there, and there are eyes on her, even though she can't see them. She can never see them, not without them taking pity on her ( _John's devilish smile and ice flashing eyes_ ), and they aren't the type for pity. It's not in their nature.

"I...I need a favor." She announces. She can't lie, not about this. When nothing happens, she continues to talk. "My mother's dead. She wants to be buried with my father. I...don't know where his body is. After the funeral, will you show me?" She asks. This is a lot. She knows it's a danger. They want her, they've been aiming for her; and now she's putting herself in their debt.

When the trees begin to sway, and music begins to sigh on that invisible wind, lovely and joyous, Rook has her answer in the depths of her heart.

She walks back into the house, locks the door and goes to bed; Boomer lies at her side, shaking.

* * *

It was a small funeral, but that was what her mother would have wanted.

The town came, paid their respects. Rook burned with despair and the overwhelming sense of do-not-belong, wondering when someone would call her on it.

(The cremation is unusual, but it's done, and her ashes are sealed in a box for Rook to do with what she pleases. It stays on her shelf for the moment.)

On the next Full Moon, Rook knew that she would be gone. They might let her walk into their territory, but they won't let her walk out again.

So she spent the next month catching up, visiting her old haunts.

Nick and Kim were expecting, and Rook gravitated to them and their happiness without thought, her dog at her heels. She found herself reconnecting with her old friend surprisingly easy, and she hated how long it had taken, how soon it would be gone.

One night Nick and Rook were up late, talking. They were drinking. Rook drank more. She began to talk. She didn't tell him everything. Not about the wolves or the cloak or the knife or the man in the Woods or the one in her dreams. Certainly not about the deal. But she came clean about the window. At some point Kim was there, staring at her in silent horror.

Rook burst in ugly sobs when she spoke of the lights outside in the Woods.

She found herself wrapped in two sets of arms, Kim awkwardly running her hands through her hair, shushing her, rocking her. She'll be a great mother, Rook thought, somewhere deep down.

( _she's so scared she doesn't want to go, she's thrown all of this away- Nick and Kim would have accepted her, she was the one to free herself from the tether and it's killing her this guilt she doesn't want to lie but she's made the deal and they'll come for her. They'll come find her they'll target Nick and Kim and baby and anyone else in their way)_

"You stay with us," Kim said flatly. "You're not going to be alone in that house, Rook."

"You can sleep in the baby's room," Nick offered, but that snapped Rook out of it.

No, she couldn't do that.

Slowly she gathered herself and the pieces, waved off their worries. Worries that she caused.

"No. No, I'll salt the house again. I've been stupid. Mother's death..." They flinched and Rook felt a stab of guilt, one of many, for deflecting.

But it worked and they let her go.

* * *

The month was up.

Rook shut Boomer in the house, ignoring his barking and whining. She had her cloak, her knife, her mother's ashes. 

As she walked across the lawn she saw Them.

Four of them, watching her, waiting.

John smiled at her, charming as before, but she felt flat as she looked at him.

A woman in white smiled too, a giggle on the wind.

The third man was silent, looming behind the rest, watching her, wolf at his side.

The last smiled at her, patient, holding out a hand, and with the same honeyed voice as he had in her dreams, he asked, "are you ready?"

**No**

"Yes."

* * *

 

_And_

_then_

_she_

_took_

_his_

_hand..._

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there are some things that Nick wouldn't know about why Rook left, or the work that the Seeds put into it, that's why some things won't add up.
> 
> Bonus facts for the chapter:
> 
> 1.) Originally this was going to be one long fic. I thought that breaking it up into chapter would fit better with what I'm setting up.
> 
> 2.) The Hunter, in my mind, has the Fae's respect, because he knows the rules. The Woods are their territory that they allow him into, and he is very thankful and respectful. He never told Rook, but he may or may not have shared a meal with strangers that never gave him their names. 
> 
> He died because in the end, the Fae are not human. They have their own rules. It just happened.
> 
> 3.) Bluebells and Honeysuckle are both signs of fae. Specifically Bluebells supposedly ring to call the Fae. Honeysuckle is associated with them, but it's also protection against evil. Yes, the Fae put the flowers there, both as a reminder that they did it, but also as their own awkward comfort)


End file.
